He turned slightly to see an old woman, her back bent with age, leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick.
Her movements were slow, each step filled with care.
The face was wrinkled and weathered, her grey hair tangled and flecked with strands of white, but there was a spark of curiosity and concern in her eyes.
Noah instantly recognized her; she was one of the few residents in this deserted area he had seen on countless mornings, usually tending to her small garden patch or wandering the dirt paths near the village.
Noah offered a small, awkward smile.
"Just… going to join my mother in the farm," he said, keeping his tone casual, almost dismissive. "That's all."
The old woman squinted, tilting her head as if something didn't quite add up.
"But I thought her farm… was that way…?" She gestured vaguely toward a cluster of distant plots, her finger trembling slightly.
Before she could say anything further, a sudden, sharp gust of wind passed through the clearing.
